


Something Stupid

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, It's just banging really, PWP, Shameless, barely there really, tiny plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 01:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17950616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: Single and alone at her best friends wedding has Hermione wanting to do something... well, something stupid.





	Something Stupid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msmerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/gifts).



> I have stumbled across the information that today is as close to MsMerlin's half birthday as we are gonna get! (It would be the 30th of Febrary, if that date existed.)
> 
> And so, I wrote her a little something :) Prompt at the end!
> 
> Beta love to InDreams who edited this shameless PWP with care. You are the real MVP!

 

Even on his wedding day, Harry’s spectacles were smudged with fingerprints. Her lips pressed together in a tight line, hiding a smile as she stared at friend.

 

“Are you happy?” Harry asked, his brows quirked curiously upward, his hand burning into her lower back.

 

“Happy for you,” she conceded with a forced smile.

 

“I’m sorry he brought her.”

 

Her ribs closed in on her lungs, forcing the air out in a harsh huff. He thought it was about Ron… and maybe it was, in some twisted world where she actually gave a shit about Ron fucking his coworker.

 

But there was the very real, very hurt part of her that watched her best friend marry the girl of his dreams tonight. The boy she fell in love with under a tented ceiling with a dying fire. A boy that had made her feel hope and love and want on a horribly transfigured cot. Night after night they’d found comfort in each other and each time she had left a bit of her heart with him.

 

But sure. It was because of Ron.

 

The song ended and with a chaste kiss on her temple, he let her go, not sparing a glance back as he scooped Ginny into his arms and twirled her around the dance floor, matching a melody that was far more them.

 

Hermione snagged a flute of champagne from a passing tray and tried her very best not to scowl. Both Ron and Harry led their witches through a lovely dance under a canopy of twinkling lights while Hermione pouted in her obnoxiously red gown.

 

It was fucking gaudy to have a crimson and gold wedding, and she didn’t care if Godric himself was rolling in his tomb at her thoughts.

 

The dress wasn’t all that bad, honestly. Ginny had gushed over the Grecian lines of the ruby chiffon and the way it hung beautifully from Hermione’s figure. However, Hermione had pleaded for something less… well less. Ginny was never one to be dissuaded, insisting she deserved to stand out. She wasn’t just any Maid of Honor, after all, she was best friend to the bride and the groom. Oh, joyous day.

 

Ginny never knew what happened in the months that stretched between Bill and Fleur’s wedding and the Final Battle. She had a highlight reel, enough that she could fill in the gaps at parties, but she didn’t know.

 

“Oh, Granger. You and your ever pining heart.” She felt a crawl up her spine and her lip tugged into a sneer. “You know, you make that face too often. I swear I saw you staring at a house elf in the office with the same longing just the other week.”

 

“Go away, Malfoy,” she sighed, plucking another flute and tipping it to her lips. “How you even weasel your way into social events like this is beyond me.” She scowled with a roll of her eyes. “Or forgive me, would ferret be a more appropriate term?” Her eyes went wide with faux concern and when he only smirked in response, she stuck the tip of her pink tongue out at him, returning to watching the happy couples.

 

“Tell me,” he purred into her curls, his chest brushing against her open back. “Which one are you crying over tonight? I hope it’s Potter. It’s all horribly tragic that you’ve no shot with him, but at least that would mean you have better taste than actually caring about the Weasel.”

 

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes and she bit down on her lip, rage and shame coursing through her.

 

“How drunk are you?” His words were velvet against her skin and she leaned into him.

 

She turned her head lazily towards him, breathing a confession against his pale cheek. “Drunk enough to do something stupid.”

 

She felt his hot hand grip her hip bone through the thin fabric of her dress, pulling her into him. The reception raged around them, dozens of drunken gingers falling over themselves to be invited to the great Harry Potter’s wedding. No one noticed the way she pressed her bum into his tented trousers.

 

“I’m stupid, Granger.” His lips brushed at her curls, breath hot against her naked neck. “Do me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Granger, there’s a room right there,” Malfoy huffed as she led him up another flight of stairs.

 

“No, this one.” She flung the door open, a wide grin pulling at her cheeks.

 

“This one?” Malfoy’s voice fell, deflated, as he inspected the cheap furnishings and twin-sized bed. Quidditch posters adorned two of the four walls and a worn trunk sat under the only window. “Oh, fuck. Really?” the blond whined. “Your ex’s room?”

 

Hermione pushed the jacket of his dress robes from his shoulders, her fingers curling around his emerald suspenders.

 

“Humor me,” she smirked, tugging him further into the room, her long fingers sliding the buttons loose.

 

“This is fucked up.” His eyes roamed the room and its utter blandness.

 

“Are you incapable of fucking your childhood rival’s ex-girlfriend in his bed?” she huffed, her cheeks flushing.

 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, stepping dangerously into her so that her back was pressed against the thin bare wood wall. “First, rival? Really? I would hardly call Ron Weasley any sort of rival to me, the infamous Malfoy. Which leads me to my second point: I’m not incapable of fucking you anywhere I bloody well please.”

 

His lips crashed onto hers and and she could feel the heat spreading in her belly. His hands tugged at the silken fabric on her shoulders, letting the strap hang loosely.

 

She whimpered as his hand palmed her covered breast, his other hand grabbing fistfuls of chiffon and flesh on her bum. Her body arched into him greedily, begging for more.

 

A surge of desperate want coursed through her and she captured his mouth, her teeth catching his bottom lip hard enough to draw a drop of blood and she laved at the wound with a flat tongue, winding her arms around his neck.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling back momentarily, his eyes dark when they met hers.

 

“Don’t be such a fucking Hufflepuff,” she mocked with a severe roll of her eyes, her palms shoving him in his partially exposed chest until he fell onto the lumpy old twin mattress in Ron’s room.

 

“Granger, what the fu–” his words caught in his throat as she shrugged the soft fabric from her limbs, letting it slide down her and pool at her feet. Hermione wasn’t one for fancy underthings; she’d never really thought it was truly worth the money and as the dress exposed her bare chest and simple black knickers – and she watched Malfoy’s speechless reaction – she knew she’d been right.

 

“What I need tonight is a hate-fuck, Malfoy. Can you handle that?” She pulled a few strategic pins from her chignon and her curls cascaded over her shoulders as she stepped out of her dress.

 

Her bare chest heaved as she watched Draco’s eyes rake over body. Not an ounce of shame touched her skin, but the adrenaline of standing exposed in front of him cause a hot blush to cover her chest.

 

He scoffed, “I am fully capable of hate fucking you, Granger.”

 

“Good. Then shut the fuck up and stop acting like a China doll.”

 

In a swift movement she crawled on top of him, straddling his lap and grinding down on his shaft with a snap of her hips. She fell down to hover over him, her curls creating a canopy around them while her mouth licked, nipped and kissed at any inch of him she could reach. His fingers dug into the flesh at her hips, driving her wet core into his cock and she was sure there would be fingertip-shaped bruises staining her skin tomorrow.

 

Draco flicked his wrist and a burning hand came down on the exposed half of her arse. She gasped against his lips, rocking forward and twisting her fingers in his soft hair. She gave a firm tug to his sugar soft tresses and her mouth settled near his earlobe. “Again,” she commanded, her teeth pinching at his lobe. She felt his chest give a hollow chuckle as he brought his palm down against her again.

 

She keened against the sensation and pulled herself up so she could stare down at him.

 

She was panting when she slid down his lap. “Shirt,” she nodded at his half open dress shirt. “Off.”

 

“You’re the boss,” he smirked, his long fingers working the clasp of his ostentatious cufflinks, engraved with his crest and speckled with emeralds. Pocketing them, she assisted in pulling the shirt from his pale sculpted shoulders.

 

His hands wrapped around her waist, his fingers trailing up her spine as he breathed her in, leaving soft kisses along the tops of her breasts.

 

“You’re doing it again,” she murmured, her back arching into his searing touch.

 

“Hmm?” he hummed in a lazy response.

 

“Turning into a Hufflepuff,” she breathed against his temple, moaning when his tongue finally found her pert nipple, barely flicking it with the tip of his tongue then pressing a wide flat tongue against her peak. When he filled his hands with her tits she ground down on him, letting him feel the heat pooling between her thighs.

 

“Are you saying you are currently unsatisfied with how your hate-fuck is going?” His hot breath tickled the space between her breasts as his hands travelled to her waist, rocking her back and forth against his cock.

 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

 

Before she could register his actions, she was face down on the twin bed, huffing from the exertion of being flipped suddenly off his lap.

 

“Malfoy!” she chastised, pushing up onto her palms.

 

The wiry frame of the small bed creaked as he stood, standing next to the bed and looking down at her with blown pupils are parted lips.

 

She peeked up at him, shirtless and suspenders hanging loose around his trousers. She felt a flutter between her thighs as his hands gripped her waist and tugged her up on all fours.

 

“Problem is…” His hand caressed her exposed arse cheek. “I can’t hate fuck when you’re the boss. You’re gonna have to give up the title. You okay with that?”

 

Hermione sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded once, burying her face into the mattress when his hand came down for the third time on her arse. One palm soothed the red print forming on her creamy flesh, and the other rested on the dimples of her lower back.

 

She felt his fingers dip lower, pushing inside the edge of her knickers and sliding against her slick folds. Thankfully the cheap quilt on the bed muffled her moans while her fingers dug into the mattress.

 

He slipped just one finger in and she growled; it wasn’t enough. Not even fucking close. He chuckled at her ire and added a second, stroking her walls at an infuriating slow pace.

 

“Fuck,” she slapped her palm against the mattress and pushed up again, narrowing her eyes over her shoulder. “Seriously, Malfoy? What’s with the wait?”

 

Smack.

 

This time the hurt was immediately soothed by his fingers probing inside of her, dragging her slick from her walls and spreading it over her folds.

 

“What was that?” he asked cheerfully, pumping his fingers in her again and again.

 

“Please, Malfoy. I’m unravelling here,” she pleaded, stretching her arms out in front of her, her arse reaching farther up to meet him and his pleasing touch.

 

Without warning his touch left her and she whimpered, pressing against the place he was before, her core throbbing at the emptiness he left behind.

 

She heard the distinct sound of leather against metal as he pulled at the clasp of his belt and freed his prick. She gave a sigh of relief when be brought both hands to the seam of her knickers at her hip and gave a forceful yank, the soft fabric giving way and falling to the side.

 

His head prodded at her weeping entrance and her hips moved on their own, driving back into him, swallowing him just as much he allowed before he stayed her hips.

 

“It’s funny, every time we do this you always say the same thing.” His voice was husky as he slid back out of her. “What is it, again?” he quizzed her with a mischievous edge to his voice.

 

She almost snarled over her shoulder at him as she tried to press back onto his cock again. “I say it’s the last time,” she confessed as he slid the tip of his cock back and forth along her slit.

 

“Are you going to say it again this time?”

 

She smirked, her cheek resting against the worn fabric. “Depends.”

 

He scoffed, “Depends on what?”

 

“On if it’s good enough to make me want to come back again,” she arched her back, lifting her arse up to him again and with a feral growl he filled her at once. Her pleasured cries were lost in the creaking of the bed under them as he buried himself in her again and again, his fingers digging into the hard bones of her hips.

 

Their scent filled the small room, mixed with her breathy panting and the sound of their skin smacking together. After  several rough thrusts he withdrew and pushed her forward and off of him.

 

“I want to see you sitting on my cock,” he commanded and in a swift turn she was back on his lap, dropping down onto him, sheathing his hard prick inside her.

 

She paused for a moment once she was fully seated, their noses barely bumping against each other. Her chocolate eyes locked onto his, grey and ominous like a thunder cloud and her breath caught.

 

They’d been doing this so long, it knocked her breathless when she realized how familiar he could be. How he knew all the ways she liked to be handled and how he had an innate way of finding her when she needed it most. He sensed her thoughts and smirked devilishly, slowing their pace and rocking her back and forth, his cock still buried in her heat.

 

Her head fell forward, resting on his shoulder, her curls falling over her back as he manuevered her back and forth, her bud dragging along the length of him.

 

“It’s been too long,” he murmured into her neck, picking up the pace as she met the rhythm of his hands, her hips quickening as her breasts rubbed against his naked chest.

 

“You always say that.” Her lips pulled into a quiet smile and her small hands pushed him back along the bed so he was laying under her.

 

Her head lolled back, exposing the long lines of her neck and taut tendons of her throat. His hands explored every inch of her he could reach, cupping her breasts and rolling her tan nipples between his fingers. Every time it was new, every time he touched her like it was the first and the last.  By know, he had kissed every freckle on her skin but when he returned, it was with a reverence she never quite understood.

 

She pulled up until the tip of him was barely at her entrance before impaling herself again and again, letting her mind focus only on the way his hand skated up her bare thigh and glided over her clit… once, twice, a dozen more times until she was shuddering and gasping on his lap, her hands sliding up her belly and tangling in her own curls.

 

As she crested, his hands left her core and dug into her hips again, driving up into her relentlessly until he joined her, a pleasured groan slipping past his lips as she locked eyes with him from her seated position.

 

When they were both left panting, she fell on top of him, catching her breath while his fingers traced the lines of her back.

 

He shifted his legs ever so slightly and she felt cotton at her shin.

 

“Tell me you didn’t,” she scolded.

 

“What?” he chuckled, his lips tickling her ears.

 

“Tell me you did not leave your socks on.” She sat up and with an accusing glare and a indignant scoff, climbed off him.

 

“I told you my feet get cold,” he teased with a playful smirk and she narrowed her eyes back at him.

 

“It’s weird. Surely you can handle your feet being cold for five minutes.”

 

He scoffed in faux hurt. “Come on, love. It’s at least fifteen.”

 

She reached down to grab her discarded dress and slid it up her legs, forgetting the destroyed knickers. She peeked over her shoulder trying in vain to hide her smile. “Maybe ten,” she allowed with a giggle. “Get dressed, we’ve been gone too long,” she instructed as she shimmied the chiffon over her shoulders.

 

“I thought only five minutes,” he mocked with an indignant grin.

 

She laughed then and returned to his side, pressing her palm to his bare chest and kissing his lips softly, like a habit but when she pulled away he cradled the back of her neck, deepening it.

 

“We can’t do this again,” she whispered against his lips when the kiss broke.

 

He rolled his eyes, “You always say that.” The blond threw his legs over the side of the destroyed bed, finding and tugging his pants and trousers up around his waist. “When can I see you again?”

 

“Draco, I’m serious.” She stepped into her heels and as he shrugged his button up over his shoulders he stepped into her, his chest flush against hers.

 

“Tonight? Let’s go back to that little place in Paris, the one with the really good crepes. We’ll be back to work by Monday.”

 

“Your boss will have your neck if you’re late,” she smirked, adjusting the straps on her dress.

 

“Ah, she’s just a little uptight. Needs a good shag and I bet she’ll be cheerful as cherry pie come Monday.” He gave her a playful swat on her now covered bum and she giggled when he wrapped his arms around her waist.

 

She turned in his embrace, fussing with his collar. “Paris, huh?”

 

“With chocolate stuffed crepes and macaroons,” he purred.

 

“Fine,” she sighed, peeking up with through her thick lashes. “Be at my flat in an hour. I’ll make an excuse and get outta here.”

 

He grinned and released her, pulling his cufflinks from his pocket and pushing them through the sleeve of his shirt.

 

She tugged the door open and found Harry and Ron climbing the last stair.

 

“Hermione!” Harry sighed in relief. “Merlin, we’ve been looking for you everywhere. Mum says she wants one more picture before… what’s going on?” She watched as his emerald eyes narrowed, noticing her flushed skin and swollen lips.

 

“Hmm?” she hummed, shifting her weight guiltily.

 

“Yeah, your hair,” Ron pointed with an accusing finger. “It’s down and you look all…”

 

She paled, her eyes fluttering closed as the door whipped open behind her.  “Thoroughly shagged? I’m not surprised you don’t recognize the look, Weasel. Probably never thoroughly shagged anything other than your wand hand.” Draco’s normal sneer was back and she wanted to slap the ridiculous look off his face as he finished the final buttons of his shirt and pulled his suspenders up.

 

When she peeked back at her friends, they were gaping, their mouths slack.

 

“One hour, Granger.” He swatted her one more time and she yelped before digging an elbow into his side when he cheerfully skipped down the winding wooden stairs.

 

Hermione tried her hardest to ignore the pained look hiding in Harry’s eyes, his brow twitching up in an unasked question.

 

“What’s he mean by one hour, ‘Mione?” Ron pressed, his face pinching in a confused scowl.

 

She let out an exhausted sigh. “One hour until Paris, apparently,” she grumbled, and followed Draco down the stairs.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are ohhhh so appreciated! 
> 
> Prompt: Dramione sneaks away to have sex at the Potter-Weasley wedding. 
> 
> Happy Half Birthday Beautiful! You are so loved and adored!


End file.
